Page 13 of Wake Me Up (New England Bay Sharks #5)

“T hat’s right. Don’t be shy.” I run my thumb over her bottom lip, loving the image of her pouty lips hovering over my cock, but I’d love it a lot more if she moved forward and actually put my dick in her mouth. “Take it. Take it all, like I know you’ve been wanting to.”

She doesn’t speak, but just stares up at me in her black bra that shows off her cleavage. I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful and sexy at the same time. My cock hardens, and cum gathers at the tip just because I want her so badly.

“Go on, Freya,” I groan, my cock standing tall in front of her. “Show me what that mouth can do. Stop playing with me and suck my dick.”

Her tongue rolls over her lips, and she pushes her long hair back over her shoulders before dipping forward. I grind my teeth together in anticipation because I’ve wanted this since the first moment I saw her. One look at her pouty, plump lips, and I knew they’d feel amazing around my cock.

Just before her lips stretch around my dick, a loud ringing noise sounds out of nowhere, and she pauses. I don’t care what that sound is. I’m too fixated on the anticipation of her sucking me off to give a fuck. But when it seems to grow louder, not stopping, I look around, agitated.

“What the—”

Everything goes white.

When my eyes fly open, I realize it’s my fucking alarm.

When I fully come to, I kind of want to smash my phone because I might never actually get the chance to have Freya on her knees before me—but at the very least, I’d love to have gotten the opportunity for her to suck me off in my dream.

And something tells me if I hadn’t gotten woken up by my alarm, I would have come in my sleep.

I look down, and even through the comforter, my dick stands tall, pitching a literal tent .

I’ve worked with her son twice in the past few weeks, and during those two times, I’ve seen her maybe a total of five minutes, and here I am … on dirty dream number three, starring Freya and my extremely hard cock.

I know it’s inappropriate. She’s a widow, who so clearly isn’t ready to move on, even after five years.

I know this because she wears her ring, meaning she’s still married in her mind.

I shouldn’t be fantasizing about her, but, fucking hell, I can’t stop myself.

And sleeping me does his own thing; I can’t control what that horny fucker does.

I don’t get attached. And I don’t spend my free time thinking about a particular woman. Especially one I hardly know who has three kids. There’s just something about her though. I’ve never been this intrigued in my whole fucking life.

Her kids are awesome too. I’ve spent the most time with Cash, obviously. But at the last lesson, her daughter came with Freya to pick him up, and she talked to me like we were friends. She even told me about her hamster, Mr. Potato. She’s a sweet kid. And damn cute too.

I find myself thinking of things I could do to see all of them again, but then I talk myself out of following through.

Luckily, I’m so busy with hockey right now that it leaves just enough time to squeeze a private lesson in with Cash every now and then, and that’s about it.

Which is good because that means I don’t have enough time to do anything weird that would freak Freya out.

But Friday night, we have a game, and I want to give Freya and the kids tickets to come watch.

I know the boys love to watch hockey, and the thought of all of them in the stands … well, I like the idea of it.

I hardly know them, and yet I find thoughts of them comforting in some strange, fucked-up way.

Throwing the comforter off, I peel my briefs off and head toward the bathroom. A shower, some soap, and my hand will ease the pain of waking up from such an incredible dream.

Oh, and the fantasy of Freya’s mouth finishing the job. Yeah, that’ll surely help too.

“Did you seriously leave your lunch box at school, Avy?” I tear through her backpack. “That’s not even your regular one. It’s your backup lunch box because you left the other one at school yesterday!”

God love this child, but she is a mess sometimes. She forgets absolutely everything, and she’s so chill that it doesn’t seem to bother her when she does.

“Sorry, Mom,” she says, taking a bite from her cereal, completely unbothered.

“Don’t say sorry to me. Say sorry to yourself when you have to use the Blue’s Clues lunch box from pre-K that you always say you’re too cool for now.

” I pause, basking in her pure distaste at the very mention of a show she was obsessed with just a few years ago.

“Just try to remember your lunch box today, okay?”

“ Fine .” She frowns, sighing dramatically. “Is Bubba working with Tripp today?”

Even the mention of Tripp’s name makes my stomach flip. I’d never admit this to anyone—I hardly want to admit it to myself—but I’ve been having dreams about him. Often. And in the dreams … he’s always naked.

So am I.

Wow. I am the worst wife in the history of wives.

“Um, no. Cash isn’t working with him today. I think he is going to meet him tomorrow though,” I say quickly, tossing her lunch inside the lunch box and zipping it shut. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, just wondering, I guess.” When she stops, I know she has more to say. “I like him. He’s nice.”

I stare at her, wondering what in the world she’s up to. Sure, he’s a nice guy, but it’s not like she’s seen him very many times. I’m surprised she’s bringing him up at all, to be honest.

“He is nice.” I nod in agreement, skeptical of this entire conversation.

She takes the last bite of cereal and steps down from the kitchen stool, bringing it to the sink. Once she’s rinsed it out, she turns toward me. “You should go on a date with him sometime. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

I don’t know what happens first—my eyes bugging out or my mouth hanging open—but I’m certain both occur rather instantly.

Out of all the places I thought she might be taking this conversation, that certainly wasn’t one of them.

She’s mentioned wishing she had a dad before, but has never talked about me dating anyone—luckily.

“Wha—why would you say that?” I practically squeak the words out, embarrassed that my little crush has become obvious to even my seven-year-old daughter. “He helps Bubba out, babe. That’s it.”

“Yeah, but sometimes, he looks at you because he thinks you’re pretty.” She sounds so sure of herself, never flinching. “And why did your voice get squeaky like that, Mom?”

“It didn’t,” I say quickly, nervously pulling the dishwasher open because I have to do something, anything, to make this conversation stop.

“It did, and sometimes, your voice gets squeaky like that around Tripp too,” she points out. “And your cheeks get red.”

I drop a plate—and thank God it doesn’t break—before fumbling a few forks. Eventually, I stand up straight and swallow. “You need to get ready for school. We have to leave soon.”

Eyeing me over suspiciously, finally, she grins—literally grins—at me. “All right, Mom,” she singsongs before she skips off toward her room.

Exhaling sharply once she leaves the kitchen, I put a hand on my forehead because that was the first time that any of my kids had mentioned that I should date.

I guess I should have known it was coming, but a part of me also thought that maybe my kids would just want to keep me all to themselves forever. Or at least until they were adults.

The conversation Aviana and I just had replays in my mind, and I grimace because I think—no, I know—I handled it really shitty.

I should have let her ask more questions and dived in deeper to it.

Thinking about dating anyone scares me, but bringing someone into my kids’ lives who could potentially hurt them? It’s debilitating.

I have to face Tripp tomorrow, and it’ll feel even more awkward than ever before since Aviana made a point to tell me that I sound squeaky and that I blush around him.

God … I wonder if he’s noticed it too.